


Just for this Moment

by HeartlessMemo



Series: Tracker!Verse [3]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Captor/Captive, Donnie discovers someone is hurting his tracker and reacts accordingly, F/M, First Kiss, Mutant Reader, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Protectiveness, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader-Insert, Stockholm Syndrome, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24573316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartlessMemo/pseuds/HeartlessMemo
Summary: Donnie's training with his tracker continues. The tracker finds herself uncomfortably drawn toward her captor--she craves his touch and his praise. Their relationship changes when Donnie discovers that a staff member at Transigen has been abusing his "pet" mutant and his protective side comes out.
Relationships: Donald Pierce/Reader, Donald Pierce/You
Series: Tracker!Verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1730212
Kudos: 26





	Just for this Moment

The SUV kicks up a cloud of dust as Donald flies into the parking lot, squealing to a halt in front of the abandoned, rusted out gas station with a triumphant grin on his face. 

“This is a new record, baby. You’re gonna be out on live missions before you know it,” his proud tone warms your bones even as the implication of his words sends a spike of fear through your heart. They’re making you into a mutant hunter. Just like him.

You chase away that thought with a sarcastic comment, “You know…you could have just told me where they were hiding. Would’ve saved me the headache.”

Donald smirks and leans over the center console, taking your face in his hands and conking your foreheads together affectionately. Your tension and stress fade away at his touch. 

“I won’t always know the answers, darlin’,” he whispers, his breath ghosting over your lips. “Some day soon it’ll be more than just practice. And you’ll be expected to be a help, not a hindrance. Can you do that, baby? Are you gonna be my good girl when we’re out in the field together?”

The internal conflict is written clearly on your face. You don’t want to hunt down other mutants, capturing them and subjecting them to the same medical torture and dehumanization that you’ve endured. But when Donald’s impossible blue eyes bore into yours, when his voice rumbles deep in his chest and his fingers touch your skin…you’ll do anything for him.

You nod your head. It’s been about a month since your capture. And in that time the only break from pain and isolation has been your training sessions with Donald. When he enters your cell with that macho swagger and smug grin, you feel relief. A day of training with him is a day you don’t have to go into the exam rooms and be tested, sampled and studied. It’s a day you get to feel fresh air on your skin and the sun’s warmth. And Donald. You get to be with Donald. He’s like a splash of paint on an empty canvas.

He heads inside the gas station to check in with the handler and mutant subject hidden inside. He leaves you behind with barely a second thought, simply locking eyes with you as he gets out of the vehicle and sternly saying, “Be good.”

You watch in disbelief as he strides away, his tall frame and broad shoulders sending a stupid thrill through your body. You’ve got to stop being attracted to him. Once he’s inside the building you look down to your lap as if to confirm what you already know to be true: no manacles. He’s left you here unbound and free to run. Your hand goes to the door handle automatically, just resting there as your mind races. You can’t deny that Donald has forged a strange bond with you in the time you’ve trained with him. You feel tied to him, compelled to please him and craving his approval. But is he so confident in his own power to think that you won’t seize the chance at freedom?

Your fingers are just flexing to pull on the handle when you see him emerge from the building, arching an elegant eyebrow at you as he crosses in front of the vehicle. He climbs inside, glancing over at you and looking pointedly at the door handle. Your hand falls away guiltily and you duck your head to avoid his gaze.

“That’s my girl,” he smiles with a hint of meanness. He likes that he’s got you trained. He likes that heady mix of attraction and fear in your eyes when you think he can’t see you watching him. His smugness fills the car like bad cologne and you want to cry. You’re disappointed with yourself. But mostly…mostly you just can’t stomach the thought of going back inside those cruel, sterile walls. Especially not tonight.

As you get nearer and nearer to the facility Donald senses your tension. Your heart is racing, your palms are sweaty and you feel dizzy. It’s Wednesday, Nurse Parker’s night shift. He’ll come to your cell again. He’ll hurt you, hold the syringe to your neck while he forces you to your knees. You can’t do it again. Not after this bitter, half-taste of freedom.

“What is it, baby?” Donald asks, catching your eye for a second before turning back to the road. 

You swallow, shaking your head and feeling tears finally slip free, “I can’t go back, Donnie. Don’t take me back…I don’t want to…”

It’s the first time you’ve called him Donnie and he finds himself unexpectedly pleased. He wants you to be familiar with him. He wants you to be…his. The thought sends him reeling. In all of his years working for Transigen he’s never…sullied himself with the mutant prisoners. They’re beneath him. Dirty. Wrong. But you…

He shakes his head, dismissing the thoughts and letting out an aggravated sigh at your words, “Darlin’, I’m disappointed. You think you’re the first mutie who’s tried to appeal to me to let them go? It’s never worked, baby. I thought you knew better.”

You seal your lips shut, shifting your body away from him and staring out the window, watching other cars go by and imagining that you’re one of those people. Out for a drive. Free. Not being taken to your doom.

By the time he pulls into a parking space in the underground garage you’re hugging yourself and trembling. He turns off the ignition and watches you for a long moment, a muscle jumping in his jaw. This assignment…actually working with a mutant…it’s messing with his mind. He doesn’t care about you. You’re less than dirt to him, like every other mutie in this place. He should not care that there are tear stains on your cheeks or that you won’t meet his eyes. But he thinks about the way you seem to melt into his touch when he praises you after a job well done…about the way your eyes linger on him sometimes…how you’ve even started to greet him with a smile when he retrieves you from your cell. He tells himself it’s only proof of his convictions: that you’re lesser and eager to serve your superiors. But… all he really wants is to make you smile again. He wants to make you feel safe.

“Is someone hurting you?” his voice is a dangerous growl, startling you into looking up at him. His eyes bore into yours, intense and terrifying. A stray lock of hair hangs over his forehead and he licks his dry lips as he waits for your reply.

You shake your head. Not denying it. Not lying to him–you can’t lie to Donald, can you? But simply refusing to answer. Nurse Parker’s words come back to you, _If you tell anyone there’ll be a little accident. Mutants are put down every day in this place. No one would question it…_

Donnie cups your cheek in his warm hand. His touch is gentle even if his words are reinforced with steel, “Answer me, little girl.”

You shut your eyes, fat tears escaping and running down your cheeks as you reply, “Everyone, Donald. You’re _all_ hurting me.”

He lets a sigh escape him and turns away, ignoring the foreign stab of guilt in his gut.

—

Something doesn’t feel right. Donald stalks through the quiet corridors of Transigen that night. He should have left by now but he keeps feeling the tug of conscience keeping him from doing so. He sees your face, tear stained and hopeless, telling him that he’s hurting you. But you weren’t telling him everything. He opens the security feeds on his phone, telling himself he’s only checking to ensure the continued usefulness of his asset. Nothing more.

But he can’t deny the panic that grips his heart when he opens your cell’s feed to find it turned off. He punches in his security clearance, manually overriding the camera and watching in fury as the image resolves on his screen. 

—

The door to your cell slams open and Nurse Parker rips away from you, leaving you kneeling on the floor and gasping for air between sobs as he turns to face the intruder. The nurse’s eyes widen in fear and he drops the syringe from his hand, the one he’s used to threaten you into compliance. 

“Hey, man…” he stutters, backing up into a wall as Donald stalks forward with murder in his eyes, “This-this one’s taken.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Donald grabs the man by the throat, lifting him off the floor and throttling him into the cinder block wall. He gets up close, spitting in the man’s face as he hisses, “Yeah, she is.”

Nurse Parker is choking for air and thrashing his limbs uselessly against his attacker. Donnie drops him to his feet long enough to aim a vicious punch to the side of his head that sends him crashing to the floor.

You tuck yourself into a corner by your bed to avoid being caught in the violence. The movement catches the nurse’s eyes and he glares at you with disgust as he spits blood.

“FUCK!” he moans, looking up at Donald, “She’s just a fuckin’ mutant!”

Donald’s body goes still. You can see every muscle in his back standing out against the tight t-shirt he’s wearing. He crouches down over his victim. His voice goes soft and menacing and you recall the mind-numbing fear he can instill with just that voice.

“She’s. My. Fucking. Mutant.”

He turns to you then, a gentle smile on his lips as if he’s trying to sooth a wounded animal, “Why don’t you wait for me out in the hallway, baby. I won’t be a minute.”

—

Donald finds you crouched on the floor looking utterly gutted. Your face is stained with tear tracks and your lip is split and bruised from where Nurse Parker had forced you to…

He suppresses a wild growl and leans down to help you stand.

“You’re okay, baby,” he whispers as he escorts you down the hall and away from the blood spattered cell. “You’re okay now.”

He takes you to his apartment. Donald’s not allowing himself to think anything through right now, he just acts on instinct. He won’t leave you alone tonight. He logs it like he does any other training session and simply walks out with you. If you could think past the lingering fear and trauma then you’d marvel at how easy it could be. He could just take you away. If he wanted.

Donald lives forty minutes away in a high-rise. The apartment is massive with a wide open living area and kitchen, big windows looking out to the night sky and a bedroom and bath tucked away in the back. He takes you into the bedroom, sitting you down on the edge of his king-sized bed before walking into the bathroom. You hear the tap running as you cast your eyes around the room, taking in the simple luxury of his living space with awe. Your fingers sink into the plush down comforter on his bed and you honestly might cry from the decadence compared to your pitiful mattress.

He emerges from the bathroom with a glass of water and pushes it toward you.

“Drink somethin’, baby. You’re pale,” his voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard it. You look up at him. Really looking for the first time since he stormed into your cell. He has dark circles under his eyes and blood smeared over his face. He holds himself without any of his usual cocky self-assurance. You take the glass from him and sip from it. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice is broken and ragged from stress. “This is…where you live?”

The answer is obvious but the real question behind your words– _why did you bring me here?_ –can’t be asked.

“Mmhmm,” Donnie hums in response, turning to his nightstand and casually twisting the robotic hand on the end of his arm until the entire prosthetic comes off. He lets it clunk onto the table as you watch with fascination. 

Then he’s sitting beside you on the bed, taking the empty glass from your hands and setting it down next to the prosthetic. His fingers brush over yours as he does so and you feel the familiar shiver that comes whenever he touches you. Donnie sees it, too. He knows how you respond to him. Most days it fills him with a sense of righteous pleasure to know his little mutant enjoys his touch. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he questions you. The anger in his voice causes you to draw back instinctively. He doesn’t let you go far, though, grasping your hand and holding it between you on the bed. “Answer me.”

“He said he would kill me,” you reply, not meeting his eyes, “if I told anyone.”

Donald’s fingers tighten around yours and you finally look up at him, sinking into his intense gaze. Something inside those eyes flickers as he answers you with a deep rumble, “No one but I can kill you, baby.”

He keeps eye contact with you as he says the words, leaning closer and ducking down so he can press his forehead against yours like he always does. There’s something about the gesture that feels intimate and… special. You can’t look away from him and you feel your body gravitating closer even as you huff a bemused laugh at his words.

“Is that supposed to comfort me?”

But…strangely…it does. He may be your captor…your jailer…but he won’t let anyone else hurt you. And after seeing the ferocity of his violence tonight…you believe him.

Donnie doesn’t answer you with his words. His mind is buzzing with accusations and warnings, but he ignores them all. He pushes back against the memory of that fucking nurse’s voice scoffing, _She’s just a mutant_. Instead he leans forward, bridging the final gap between you and pressing his soft, full lips against yours. His lips are impossibly soft but the kiss is all urgency and yearning. He cups his hand around the back of your neck, holding you in place as he ravages your mouth. Not that you want to pull away. No, you’re pressing yourself up against his chest, your hands running through his hair and trailing down to his shoulders as he deepens the kiss. It feels like every touch, every word exchanged over the last month has been leading you both to this place. 

The kiss goes on and on. It’s savage and gentle and sad and urgent all at once. You’re both reluctant to pull away for even one second because if you do then the spell will be broken and you’ll have to go back to being captor and captive. So you don’t pull away. You don’t end it. You sink into Donnie’s warm body and let him engulf your tiny form. You let him claim you and capture you all over again. You cling to this moment with all your strength. Because already– _already_ you’re grieving it. You’re grieving the moment it ends and he takes you back to that place. And Donnie must feel it too because he growls into your lips and his fingers tighten on the back of your neck as if he’s raging against the reality that won’t ever let the two of you go from its grip.

Afterwards you’re both breathless and flushed. He lies beside you on the bed, running his fingers through your hair and humming soothing words to you as your eyes flutter shut. 

“I got you, baby,” he whispers, “You’re alright.”

And, for now, you are.


End file.
